Hair Confessions

While I’m on the subject of yesterday’s hair adventures, I might as well come clean with a few of my hair issues. 1) I got the worst haircut of my life in Georgia. I brought 3 pictures of the cut I wanted (a cute, chin-length bob) to the hairstylist. I had never been to this stylist before, but she assured me she knew exactly what I wanted. Instead of looking like Julia Stiles, like I wanted, I ended up looking more like her brother (if she has one). This was the message that I left on my parents’ answering machine after I got the cut: “I just got a haircut and I look like a man! Call me back! Bye.” The reactions the next day at work varied from pure laughter (2 co-workers) to this statement from another co-worker: “With all due respect, ma’am, what did you do to your hair??” I cried for a week, and I never returned to that hair stylist again. Lesson Learned: In addition to learning that I’m not meant to look like Julia Stiles (no matter what haircut I get), I learned to carefully screen future stylists, especially if trying a more daring ‘do. 2) I have a long history of neglecting my hair – and my blow-dryer. Once in high school, I was waiting outside in the middle of winter for the bus (yes, I was all sorts of geek in high school) with my wet, un-blow-dried hair. When I tried to run my fingers through my hair later on the bus, I couldn’t because my hair had actually frozen! Lesson Learned: Hair can freeze, and I learned that I’ll want to make the effort to blow-dry my hair next time I’m waiting outside in freezing temps (I hope not) for a bus (I really hope not). 3) A haircut that I got a few months ago was with a stylist I had not seen before. The first thing that she said to me when we met was: “I just got my moustache waxed off!” I really didn’t know how to respond to that. (Congratulations? Or, nice to meet you, too?) The haircut she gave was only so-so and expensive. (So expensive that I tried not to audibly gasp when I saw the bill.) Lesson Learned: I learned that it’s better to keep any talk of hair-removal to yourself. I didn’t pick her for my next haircut. There are more stories I could tell, but I don't want to bore you. Let's just say that I’ve definitely had my fair share of hair disasters. For me, I think the overall lessons learned here are: Look into wigs. Check if being bald is coming in style. Or, better yet, come back as a short-haired man in the next life.

Hair Adventures

I got a great haircut today, and I only had to go to 2 different salons to get it! The first salon was an upscale (read: too expensive) place that I had been to once before. I arrived a few minutes before my scheduled appointment with a stylist I had never seen. And I left, still not having seen that stylist – or any stylist! After I checked in with the receptionist, I waited. And waited. And – you guessed it - still waited. After 20 minutes, I asked the receptionist whether she was sure that the stylist knew I was there, and she said she’d remind her. Finally, it was already 30 minutes after the scheduled appointment time, and the stylist still hadn’t even stopped by to introduce herself. (It took less time yesterday for a busy auto shop to change my car’s oil!) So, I informed the receptionist that I was leaving, and I walked out of the salon. I figured that if I was going to pay a small fortune for a cut, I should at least be able to see the stylist before my hair turned gray. (Then I would need a cut and a coloring!) On a whim, I ran into a salon in the mall, and the stylist there had an opening. She was polite and kind, and the conversation was pleasant and enjoyable. The cut she gave was amazing, and it was half the price I would have paid at the other salon. Like my past hair experiences, I left the salon wanting to cry. Except this time they were tears of happiness. I finally found a terrific stylist at a bargain price! I’m trying not to think about how we’re moving in less than a week, and I’m going to have to find a new stylist again. But, I think I finally have this process down. Search. Find. Move. Rinse and repeat.

Going Red

It was something I always wanted to do. And I had run out of excuses, so I had no choice but to finally give in. I went red.

I’m not sure where this hidden desire to be a redhead came from. Maybe it’s from all those sayings I’ve heard about redheads being fiery and feisty. (And what girl doesn’t want to be a little fiery and feisty?)

So I bought a bottle of hair dye (going with a non-committal, “washes out in 28 shampoos” type), channeled my inner redhead (Lucille Ball? or maybe, more realistically, little orphan Annie?), and dyed my hair red.

Or should I say, I tried to dye my hair red. I think, more accurately, I dyed my towel red. And the shower, too, which looked strikingly similar to a scene from a horror flick, with drops of looks-just-like-blood dye running down the sides of the shower.

Amazingly, some of the dye actually clung to my usually-brown hair. And don’t get me wrong, the color was subtle. So subtle, that Husband suggested that we go outside so he could inspect it in the sunlight.

“Wait….turn your head a little….oh yeah, I think I see some red.”

I guess the more accurate synopsis of the whole event is: “I dyed my towel and shower red, leaving some very subtle glints of reddish tones in my hair.”

By the way, I’m not sure how they calculate that it lasts for “28 shampoos.” Were the test subjects actually using water and real shampoo each time?

I figure the red won’t last more than 2 more shampoos (yes, real shampoos with water and suds). I guess that leaves me with the memory of my somewhat reddish locks – and a once-white, pink towel.